


An Hour Past Midnight

by PurpleFunkyDishwasher



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFunkyDishwasher/pseuds/PurpleFunkyDishwasher
Summary: A short piece on Phobos' losses, inspired by art created by escherbug: https://twitter.com/escherbug/status/1251700266132529152?s=20
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	An Hour Past Midnight

He was driven by his rage.

By his fury.

By determination.

But mostly, even if it wasn’t obvious to him with everything else mixing with the adrenaline in his veins, by his sorrow.

Only he remained.

They’d had friends. Family. Goals. Desires.

And so easily it had all been torn away from them.

He had been told to go there once, a long time ago, by a wisened elder.

‘What could ever happen to us?’ he had answered. ‘We’ve been around for tens of thousands of years. We are  _ unstoppable _ .’

The elder had given him a sad smile. It was burned into his brain now more than ever.

He had been a fool in his youth.

The cave was dark, lit only by a dim blue glow which emanated from the patterns inscribed into the walls - imagery even older than himself.

‘They tell tales of a different time,’ a young woman had once told him. ‘Historians believe they’re as old as our civilisation itself - of how we came to be, and the legends that our people passed down.’

‘You know a lot about this.’

She had laughed then. It was a beautiful, youthful laugh that had stayed with him forever. ‘Look, this one is about an invasion…’

He stopped to look at them for a brief moment before realising that this was not the time to be revelling in the memories of a time now past.

He had a mission, and he had to stick with it.

The steps were steep and seemed to go on forever. He was not weak, but even his legs began to shake and breathing became heavy after a while.

‘Are you sure you want to keep doing this?’ asked a friend who, at the time, was in much better shape than he was. ‘Come on, let’s stop for today.’

‘No,’ he’d managed, ‘a lord is someone who must be looked up to by the people. I must be in peak physical condition.’

‘You’re way too hard on yourself. Alright, just don’t push yourself too hard.’

This time he had to push himself.

For them.

Finally, reaching the top of the stairway, he saw what he had been sent here for.

It stood on a pedestal, illuminated by the light from the walls.

Armour.

But not any armour - that of a legendary hero, spoken about in tales passed down to children, one that was perhaps written in the walls. And that’s all people thought it was - a tale to make children feel safer.

But where had their hero been in their time of need? When the clock struck midnight, where had the hero been?

_ You should have been the hero. _

_ You’ve let your people down. _

He picked up the helmet, his hands almost shaking beneath it.

He swore he could feel them there with him.

That elder.

The historian.

His friend.

Like they were cheering him on, despite what he had let happen. Like they were shouting at him to not give up hope, and to keep going.

This was his destiny.

Removing his helmet, he put the new one on - a perfect fit, as though it was made for him.

Lord Phobos may not have been able to save his people, but this wasn’t the end. He might have been the only one left, but their story didn’t have to end in tragedy.

‘I will avenge you.’


End file.
